“Like on Broadway?”
“As of a few months ago, yes,” I say as she makes ahuhsound. “Now sit. Please. No one should have to bandage themselves up.”
Toffee hisses at a dog walking by, prompting Hazel to sit between us and drape her unscathed arm over him protectively. The other arm she holds out toward me.
I rip open the bag of cherry gummies and hand it to her. “We can talk about whatever will take your mind off this,” I say, setting her arm on my knee. Her hand is freezing, which makes me wonder if she’s nervous.
I hold underneath her arm to keep it steady as I analyze her scratch in the light of the bodega’s storefront window. It’s worse than I thought. There are two six-inch-long parallel scratches. Just below her inner elbow is a miniature tattoo of the outline of Mickey Mouse’s head. It surprises me, this particular permanent choice she’s made.
“I want to talk about your fortunes,” she says again, keeping her eyes on me. I feel her arm flex in my hand. “She must’ve said something really good for you to buy a lottery ticket.”
I open the canister of hydrogen peroxide wipes. “She did say good things.” My smile drops after I hear myself. “Oh. Shit. Did I take your good fortune?”
Hazel looks back at me, her eyes widening. “I don’t know, did you?”
“I don’t know! Do you want mine? Seriously, you can have them.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how it works. And besides, I don’t want your pity fortune.” She gasps. “Wait, is this why you’re offering to split your winnings? To assuage your guilt of fortune-stealing?”
“Gummy,” I prompt, and with her free hand, Hazel quickly reaches into the bag and stuffs a handful of cherries into her mouth.
I make quick work of dabbing across the scratches with the wipes. She doesn’t react.
“Wow, I’m better at this than I thought. Did that not hurt?”
“It was es-croosh-ting.” She swallows the candy down. Her watery eyes find mine as she licks her upper lip. That lick does something to me. “Excruciating.”
I track her eyes sliding down my face to my lips. It’s quick, but I’m quicker. She catches me catch her. Hazel turns her head away as her cheeks pinken. She’s so fucking cute when she blushes.
Hazel closes her eyes and rubs her temple with her free hand. “Can you please just tell me what your cards were? Do it quickly, while everything already hurts. Get it over with at once.”
I open the boxes of Neosporin and cotton swabs. “First of all, no, I’m not trying to ease my conscience,” I say, responding to her earlier question. “I don’t like having debts. This is me paying you back. Wendy said abundance is coming my way in my job or finances. That was from the present card, so it could happen any day now.”
“I can relate to the debt thing, but the reading cost ten dollars,” Hazel says, peering into the bag. “This more than covers it.”
I squeeze ointment onto the cotton swab and run it over the long red lines.
“What about the future?” she asks. “What did your third card look like?”
I dump the box of Band-Aids into my lap, dozens of miniature Hello Kitty faces smiling up at us. I peel off the backing to the bandages. “Wendy said I have everything I need to make my dreams a reality and that next month is a good time to execute on any ideas or goals I’ve wanted to achieve.” I shrug, pressing down gently on the sticky strips. I use up the entire box. “You’re good to go.”
She looks down at the clowder of cats on her forearm. “Thank you. After everything today, that was the least painful part about it.” She runs her finger along the row of bandages. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because I’ve been, I don’t know…” She avoids direct eye contact. “I’m in a bad mood. And you helped me. With wet clothes on.”
Hazel doesn’t play games. She’s straightforward and blunt, and when she’s mad, it’s clear.
Her honesty is refreshing and attractive as hell.
I dip my head to meet her eyes. “I guess I didn’t want to say goodbye yet,” I confess. “And it’s my fault you were all scratched up, so it didn’t feel right to leave you like that.”
This is the moment we both realize her arm is still in my hand. By the looks of it, she’s surprised, too. There’s an energy in the air around us. That’s the best way I can describe it. A spark, a pulse.
She doesn’t jerk her arm away. Instead, she lingers, drawing out this physical connection between us. She turns her arm so that her fingers graze my forearm, the texture of her Band-Aids brushing against the pads of my fingertips. Hazel’s lips part briefly before she presses them together and sits back, pulling her arm away with the movement.
“So, October is your month, huh? Is something big happening?” she asks.
